Remembrance of Times Yet to Come
by Earendil Eldar
Summary: <html><head></head>Jack is put out about being "summoned" to London for meetings with T1, but there is something worth his while there.</html>
1. Chapter 1

Jack hated London. Well, parts of London. The bars were good. But then there was Torchwood One. Now, _that_ he hated. And Whitehall. And just about everybody who thought they could tell Jack Harkness a thing or two. Or thought they could demand he come in personally, then make him wait four hours between meetings.

Jack stalked out of Canary Wharf in a huff, intent on getting something to eat and a couple pints in him before he had to look at Hartman again. As he was leaving, a smart-looking young man hurried passed him – walking, briskly, not running. Jack tried to remind himself how much he thoroughly hated everything to do with Torchwood One, but he seemed to be taken by a wild hare and decided to follow the cute bum in the grey worsted wool suit.

Jack figured four hours wasn't quite enough for anything really fun, but a bit of eye-candy couldn't hurt and would certainly make the rest of the day more bearable. Jack followed casually as the young man lead the way several blocks to a small, cosy, dimly-lit art gallery. Jack stopped for a long moment as he walked into the building. It was like stepping back in time a hundred years… again.

He spotted the man in grey again, who now looked relaxed, in his element, warm even – despite the damp, cold afternoon outside – slowly, studiously making his way around the art exhibition. Jack didn't approach him or even get too close. For once, he decided to hang back and just look. Jack didn't even actually see the man's face straight on, only caught glimpses at his profile. Still, Jack could tell by the small smile that played at the corners of his mouth which paintings were his favourites.

There was a certain sadness to that smile when the young man stepped along to look at a Van Gogh. He stayed looking at that piece for a quite a while and Jack's thoughts wandered, making up a story, a life for the mysterious Torchwood One stranger. Welsh accent, for sure. Jack had become rather used to that. Made incredible coffee (well, he'd have to, wouldn't he?) Normal life outside of Torchwood… and that of course was how Jack knew it was just a "story."

Now and then Jack had to ask himself if he still even had a concept of a normal life. He tried to keep up on the whole idea so he'd be ready when he finally caught up with the Doctor. What would "normal" be to someone like that man, Jack wondered? Returning to a nice home (after a day of getting frustrated by Torchwood 3 and their usual 'cowboy' approach to Rift issues), maybe an adorable little girl running to greet her daddy, carrying her into the kitchen to get a kiss from his….

Jack shook his head when he envisioned himself there doing the cooking.

"Yeah," Jack muttered to himself, "not in this universe."

Jack gave one last glance to the back of the man who had moved along to study a Rubens. Glancing at his watch, he still had more than 3 hours to eat and drink enough to stand talking to Hartman. Best get to it, Jack figured, and headed back out of the gallery into the cold London wind.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling. For as trying as his meetings with Hartman had been, he still couldn't get the thought of that sharp-dressed man at the gallery out of his mind. It was starting to bother him now. Why should some guy with a nice ass be so stuck in his mind? He appreciated the sight of a gorgeous bum at least a dozen times a day, but none of them captivated him so entirely – at least, none he hadn't actually talked to, dated, or shagged.

And what the hell was up with that domestic little day-dream? Jack hadn't entertained delusions of domesticity in decades. He knew better.

"Damn it," Jack growled. It just wasn't leaving him alone. There was only one thing for it, he decided, getting up and dressing.

Half an hour later, Jack walked passed the queue at the door to the club, smiling at the bouncer as he went inside. Half an hour beyond that he was being slammed against the wall in the gents and receiving a rather thorough examination of his back molars.

Several hours later, Jack woke from a disturbing dream in an unfamiliar bedroom. He tried to piece together what happened in the dream to figure out what had prompted it. All he remembered was a man's painful cries. Nothing he hadn't heard dozens of times, sometimes even caused when necessary. But this was different… this was worse, somehow. Something told Jack this was happening to someone he loved so deeply it tore him in two.

The fact that he felt like that when there was nobody like that in his life annoyed him and, though he wouldn't admit it, scared him. It annoyed him even further that he woke up next to someone he knew nothing about, only reinforcing the fact that he couldn't hope to have something so deep as what he'd felt in that dream, even if it had been painful.

Shaking his head, Jack got out of bed and dressed without waking the other man. He left a brief note, then hurried away. It occurred to Jack as he headed back to the Hub that maybe those bastards at One had slipped him something experimental. It wouldn't be the first time they'd tried to crack the Harkness enigma. He'd raise a hundred levels of hell if that was the case. Maybe he'd take a run out to London again just to test them….


End file.
